


Short Skirt (Long Jacket)

by Butyoucancallmemeg



Series: Ascendants [4]
Category: Descendants (Disney Movies)
Genre: Auradon Prep (Disney), BAMF Evie (Disney), Canon Rewrite, Con Artists, Evie & Jay (Disney) Friendship, Evie Is Not A Doe-Eyed Waif, F/F, Isle of the Lost (Disney), Isle of the Lost (Disney) is a Terrible Place, M/M, United States of Auradon (Disney) Is Not Perfect, compulsory heterosexuality, traumatized kids
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-03-20 12:46:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18992941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Butyoucancallmemeg/pseuds/Butyoucancallmemeg
Summary: The Evie that exists in front of her mother and the one that she is everywhere else are two very different creatures. Mother knows a lot about men, but Isle men are different, and Mother is stuck in the past. Everyone wants to feel powerful. To feel wanted, desired, maybe a little feared. The Evie that she is everywhere else has perfected the art of making men pay attention.Alternately titled "Evie Is Not A Doe-Eyed Waif 2k19".





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's no fucking way a savvy kid from the Isle falls for that schtick that Charming pulled on Evie in D1. I get that she was a foil for Mal or whatever but she didn't deserve that and neither did I. Also, give these damn kids some last names please.

“Your name, dear Evelyn, means Desired,” the self-proclaimed Evil Queen ponitificates. Her eyes are fixed on her own reflection in her vanity mirror. “And it’s certainly not because _I_ wanted you.” 

The words echo in Evie’s head sometimes, so loud that it’s hard to think. 

Lectures from Mother are to be taken in her bedroom, standing or sat prim and proper on the sofa. They began much the same, every time, though the content depends largely on which of Evie’s flaws she has decided is most important to eradicate. 

She doesn’t need to be smart, she needs to be pretty. She doesn’t need to be comfortable, she needs to be pretty. She doesn’t need to speak up, she needs to be pretty. She doesn’t need to eat. Think. Breathe. 

She needs to be pretty. 

She sits, or stands, perfectly still and poised like a doll, until Mother dismisses her. Evie can manage it for hours, by now - back straight, eyes up, a delicate upward curve to her lips. No smiling, no frowning. She wears elegant skirts and tight corsets and does her makeup exactly the same way each time, or over and over until she gets it right. She’s not to speak unless asked a direct question. It’s a lesson she learns fast and well.

The first time she dares to interrupt a lesson, she earns herself a hard slap to the face. 

“You’ll not speak,” Mother instructs Evie coldly, “unless spoken to. Men don’t care what you think, they care how you look on their arm.”

“Yes, Mother,” Evie says, hands itching to cup her stinging cheek. She rights herself quickly, smoothing her skirt and placing her hands demurely in her lap.

Later, she sits at a vanity of her own, and covers the bruise her mother’s ring left behind with foundation. It’s cheap, and no amount of delicate layering will fully cover the faint purple stain, so she lines her eyes a little darker, blushes her cheeks and contours her nose and overdraws her bold red lips until she’s beautiful anyways.

-

The Evie that exists in front of Mother and the one that she is everywhere else are two very different creatures. Evelyn Queen and Evie Grim. She takes on as many different personas as there are situations to pull them out in, but only two of them have names - only two of them does she pull on so completely that it feels like stepping into herself. Her mother gets Evelyn Queen: prim and proper, delicate and silent. 

Evelyn Queen is long dresses and flowing sleeves, perfect red lips and the palest foundation she owns. The perfect Auradon china doll. 

Evie Grim, on the other hand, is a different beast entirely - a siren song of smoked-out eyes and fishnet tights. 

Skirts short and tits spilling tantalizingly out of the neck of her dress, she strides down the market streets. It’s a balance, she’s found, between looking confident enough to catch attention, while delicate enough not to be seen as a threat. She scans the crowd with wide, innocent eyes. 

Mother knows plenty about being ladylike - how to sit, how to walk, how to speak - but Evie privately wonders how long it’s been since she’s met a man.

Evelyn Queen may not have her mother’s strategy of dainty silence down yet, but Evie Grim has perfected the art of making men pay attention. 

First, she spots him. Her eyes skate over her mark without pausing. Her opening move doesn’t play if he sees her coming, so she settles her eyes on a market stall, tracking his movements in her periphery. He’s walking toward her, but not with purpose. He has time to be distracted. All it takes is a little wobble on her heels to make her look unsteady, and she’s pitching forward with a delicate gasp of surprise, flying into her mark’s arms. 

It’s practically cliché, but it works every time.

The gasp, of course, is to give him enough time to catch her. Now it feels like _he’s_ making the first move. He conforms beautifully to expectation, arms coming up to wrap around her waist as he takes a steadying step back. He’s tall, with hard muscle, and she lands firmly against him, a line of contact from waist to chest. Grasping at his bicep for balance, she looks up, as if for the first time, directly into his eyes. They’re wide with surprise, taken aback. She mirrors.   

The next part is entirely instinct by now: her gaze slips down to his lips, then back up to his eyes before they go back, as if pulled, to looking at his mouth. 

She parts her lips, taken aback by the sheer beauty of him, before _dragging_ her eyes back up, with a chin lift to accentuate the sheer difficulty of the task. 

He catches her signals, surprise morphing into lust as he stares down at where her chest is pressed up against him before forcing himself to look again at her face. It’s tragic, really, that for the mark it isn’t even an act. 

She gives him the barest hint of a smile, tinged with surprise and embarrassment.

“Hi,” She says, breathless, still in his arms, still with her hand on him. 

All the elements are vital, the execution perfect. She’s vulnerable, he catches her - he’s got the power. She might even owe him, just a little, for the favor of catching her. Indicators of attraction, so he uses it the way she wants him to. The facsimile of embrace, the contact, to put the thought in his mind. They’re halfway to bed and he doesn’t even know it yet.

Not that he’d know it anyways, he’s a meathead. Most likely, he’s someone’s hired help, a grunt to pick over the barges for someone richer, or a bodyguard. Either way, he’s not rich. The rich ones are never strong like this, they don’t have to be. 

“I’m Evie,” she says, voice pitched just a little bit up to give it that innocent lilt. He smiles at her. Bingo. 

He gives his name, and she repeats it back to him warmly, leaning into him the slightest bit as she does. He’s so far hooked she barely needs to do anything now, but it’s good practice. She might as well give him the full experience.

Now she starts to pull away, righting herself, and her hand slides down his arm in a caress. 

Scant moments later, they’ve left the street, and she’s looting his pockets with his fly between her teeth. 

-

When she tries her move on Jay - her patented move, the one with a near-perfect hook rate - it’s the first time in years that it doesn’t take. 

“Hi,” she says, breathless, “I’m Evie.” 

“Jay,” He says, distracted. He pushes her carefully away from him and takes his hands off the moment he’s sure she’s got her balance, breaking contact thoroughly and completely.

If anything, it throws her more off-balance than before. 

“You really saved me there,” she tells him earnestly, looking up at him from under her lashes. “Save” is a watchword. There are a lot of them, and Evie is the master of talking her way around them. “Friend”, “trust”, and “good”, for example, make you sound soft. Those are Auradon words. “Save” makes you sound weak. 

It’s a risky gambit, but she has her rings on. She can scuffle if she needs to. Realistically, it should be enough to lower his guard, at least catch his attention. He barely grunts in response.

“Think I could… find some way to make it up to you?” she asks coyly. She leans so her breasts are pressed right up close, and trails a finger along his chest. 

“Owe” is another watchword, but a different kind. The kind of word that doesn’t get tossed around lightly. 

Jay’s hand comes up to caress her waist and suddenly he’s flashing her a grin. Her smile gets brighter. She’s hooked him now, for sure. 

He says, “I’m sure we can figure something out.” 

Evie has visions of slipping into an alley and picking him over the second he closes his eyes, but he’s slid past her and into the crowds. He doesn’t look back. Evie frowns into the space he’s left behind. 

She hates to lose. 

-

It might be a risk, trying again, but she does it anyways. Not the same move, of course - a con never plays twice. 

It’s just - 

She did it _perfectly_. She grabbed his attention, she made herself look vulnerable, gave good eye contact, touched him without prompting. 

She pushes into the shop where he’s standing behind the counter. It’s Jafar’s shop, but Jafar hardly makes an appearance. Instead, he lets his son manage the counters and the merchandise. She’s come in here before once or twice with Mother, but Jay would hardly recognize her from that. She’d been Evelyn, then. 

Evie’s eyes wander the shelves for a few long oblivious seconds before she lets them land on his face, like this is all some happy accident. She lets her face come over surprised, brows raising and lips parting into a disarmed little smile. He’s been watching her from the second she walked in - obviously. She’s a customer. 

She can’t imagine Jafar takes too kindly to shoplifters. 

She knows all the steps, she’s practiced them plenty. Eye contact, signals of attraction, look flustered for a moment, then approach. So she bites her lip, takes a long look, drops her eyes to the floor and glances up through her lashes. 

“Hi,” she says, breathy and light. This time, his eyebrows flick up, a smirk sliding slowly over his face. That’s more like it. Why couldn’t he have done that the first time? He braces both hands on the counter he’s stood behind and looks her up and down, slow and appreciative. 

“Jay, right?” Evie asks, approaching the counter. She could lean over it a little, rest her chin on her hand and give him a good view down her dress, and she files the thought away for later. It’s early yet. She gets close enough anyways to let him get a whiff of her perfume. 

She made it herself: a touch of magic to reel them in is the most she’s ever been able to do, thanks to the barrier, but in another world it’d be powerful enough to put any man on his knees. Her mother’s recipe books lay dormant in a locked case under her bed - out of sight and out of mind - but the lock is a joke, and if Mother has taught Evie anything, it’s how to be silent.

“Evie with the dark blue hair,” Jay replies, reaching up to wrap a curl around his finger. She titters at him.

“Wasn’t sure you’d remember me,” She admits bashfully, “but I’ve been thinking about you.” 

“Remember you?” He repeats, voice warm and flirtatious, “Baby, I couldn’t forget you if I tried.” 

He certainly could, certainly has, but she doesn’t tell him that - lets him charm her to death like it was all his idea. 

He grins at her, and his eyes sparkle. His thumb brushes her cheek as he pulls his hand away, deliberately-by-accident. 

He’s following the same script she is, she realizes. Touch without prompting, flattery, a dash of vulnerability, but not enough to tip the scales. His angle’s not sex, or they’d be having it already, but he’s definitely running a game on her. 

She could back off. She should, even. If she’s onto him there’s little doubt he’s figured the same about her, but - 

On the other hand, this could be… fun. A challenge. A game, almost. Mentally, she resets. Her eyes sharpen and her posture gets a little more predatory. There’s really no use faking weakness if there’s nothing to gain from it. Besides, if they’re playing a game the least she can do is make it a fair one. 

“I bet you say that to all the girls,” she deflects, leaning in a little more over the table. He hasn’t _once_ glanced at her cleavage, and part of her is almost offended. If he’s trying to use sex to get her to buy something, he could at least take a look at her goods.

“Only the fairest,” He counters easily. She has to hold back a little nod of approval at that - he knows his mark. Clever boy.  

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in a dirty shop like mine?”

“Maybe I’m looking to get a little dirty.” she flirts.

“Careful,” he says, voice low and teasing, “a man could take that as an invitation.”

She grins, raising a shoulder in a delicate shrug. “Maybe a man should,” she suggests, “You seem like you could show a girl a good time.”

“I don’t know, baby girl, I’m a lot to handle.”

“Yeah? You gonna take me for a ride?” 

“It’d be the ride of your life. Wouldn’t want to ruin you for all those other boys.”

She’s having fun, she realizes with some surprise. This is easy banter, and they’re on the same footing - he’s trying to manipulate her, and she’s doing the same, and they’ll both keep parrying each other’s advances until one of them slips up or they call it a draw. Either way, she won’t break first. 

Suddenly, he’s got something in his hand: a delicate gold necklace, the pendant sparkling red. He holds it up near her face, letting the cool metal rest against her collarbone. For all that she’s observant, she has no idea where he pulled it from.

“What do you say, baby?” He flashes her a charming grin, “A pretty thing for a pretty thing.”

Evie considers it. It’s a nice necklace, and she’s got the cash to buy it, but that would be tantamount to losing, wouldn’t it?

“Something to remember me by on all those long, lonely nights?” He offers.

This time, Evie grins like a shark - a little bit mirthful, a little bit dangerous - and lets the last of her put-on innocence fly out the window. “Baby, if you think a girl like me gets lonely, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

He leans back on his heels, watching her for a considering moment. Something like respect plays across his face, and it’s somehow far more gratifying than making a man want her has ever been. A draw, then, she thinks. 

“I’d hate to see you walk out empty handed.” 

“Yeah,” she says dismissively. Then, a parting shot as she turns for the door, “but they love to watch me leave.” 

She switches her hips as she walks out, and doesn’t look back. 

-

He telegraphs his approach on purpose when he sees her in the street - she’s seen Jay in action, it’s certainly not an accident - so Evie doesn’t bother to act surprised when his arm snakes around her waist. She turns her body so it’s flush against him, one hand on his chest. It’s quick and smooth and seductive. He gives her that same charming boyish little grin as he looks down at her. Tall boys just love to look down at girls. 

“Evie with the dark blue hair,” He says warmly. 

“Jay,” she greets, voice low, “To what do I owe this… pleasure?” It’s the little emphasis on ‘pleasure’ that makes his eyes light up. 

“Half a take if you shill for me,” He says: part-offer, part-challenge. He knows what she does and wants to see what she’s capable of. An audition, perhaps? Evie flicks up her eyebrows, tilts her head like she needs any time at all to consider it. Distracting a mark is old hat, and having a partner to make the grab for her means she can give her undivided attention. 

Plus, it’s rare she gets the opportunity to show off. 

“Big take?” 

He chuckles, and she can feel the rumble of it in all the places her body is pressed up against his. It’s sort of nice, to be held like this when she knows it’ll go no further. He won’t make a move, just like she won’t buy that pretty necklace, even if she wants it. That would mean losing the game.  

“A big enough take that I’m giving up half to make it happen,” He says, which is really answer enough. 

Half. Jay runs with Carlos de Vil, and has been for a while now. It’s only half-secret, really. She makes it a point to know associations.

Evie narrows her eyes, “Half of _your_ half, or are you shorting your boy?”

Jay gives her a startled look. Evie thinks he shouldn’t be so surprised, all things considered. She is, however, a little smug that she’s managed to get the drop on him. 

“Equal thirds,” Jay amends, like he’s making an allowance. Evie shrugs, steps back out of his space. She’d do it for nothing if she thought it wouldn’t make him suspicious. 

“Point me.” She instructs. Jay gives a description down to the cowboy boots the man’s wearing, and Evie has him give her sixty seconds before he makes the grab. The man’s a backcountry sort, so she pops the pins out of her hair, drops her jacket behind a trash can, puts her feet through the holes in her fishnets and pulls them up her thighs until they’re hidden under her skirt. Jay watches with some fascination.

“Don’t telegraph yourself.” She says, voice distorted by the elastic band in her mouth. She flips her head forward, pulls her hair into a high, tight ponytail. “Distraction only does so much,” she warns. Jay scoffs. “Fifty four,” he says instead of a reply. He’s grinning, though. “Fifty three,” he continues,  “fifty two…” and she goes. 

The mark’s at a stall in the marketplace, examining wares with a critical eye. The woman presiding over the stall seems to be growing tired of this. Evie lets herself get jostled by the crowd until she’s pressed right against his left side, jostling him just the slightest bit before righting herself and putting on her best flustered face. He turns to regard her, an irritated frown on his face.

“On my mama, these crowds!” she exclaims, letting her voice take on an understated twang. She’s clearly not addressing him, but it opens her up nonetheless. She fixes her hair, lets out a little “Oh!” when her eyes fall on him looking at her. “I really didn’t mean no harm, I just got a little flustered is all.”

Those farm boys do love a double-negative. She’s gratified to see him turn to face her, giving her his attention, even if he’s frowning. Being liked isn’t really integral to the distraction. It’s just a nice side-benefit. 

“Y’alright?” She puts a hand on his arm, gives him big concerned eyes as she looks him over. Not “sorry”, but close enough. Twenty seconds. 

“I’m alright,” he allows, and her shoulders fall into relief. “I was worried I’d managed to step on your feet!” she admits, bashfully, looking down and then back up at him through her lashes. Then, after a moment too long staring, she says, “I’m Hanna.” 

His eyebrows twitch in surprise, but his frown goes away. Or, it softens at the eyes. She leans forward, just a little, only a few seconds to go now. 

“Did you know, you just have the most beautiful blue eyes?” She asks, voice dropping a touch lower, and he’s hooked now. He takes a half-step closer, and Jay’s red hat flashes past her vision. 

She lets out an embarrassed little laugh, looking down. “Oh, I’m so silly, talking to a stranger like this. I don’t even know your name.”

He tilts her chin up with his finger, a claiming sort of motion, and she lets him with big wide eyes. “Devon,” he says, and she smiles. 

It’s disgustingly naive, she thinks, to believe that any girl could grow up on this island and be as guileless as this, but they never fail to eat it up. It’s like a fantasy come-true for an evil man: the last innocent young thing left to defile. 

“Devon,” she repeats softly, mouth turning back up at the corners. “Devon, I have to get back to my mother, but I’ll, um,” lip bite, hair twirl, “I’ll see you around, right?” 

She takes a few lingering steps away, and the frustrated disappointment that flashes across his face makes her want to grin. 

“Definitely,” He says, louder to be heard over the crowd, and then Hanna is gone. Evie pulls the rubber band out of her hair as soon as she’s out of his line of sight, straightening her shoulders and shaking her head until it falls around her shoulders in loose curls again. Her shuffling walk becomes a stride. 

Maybe his eyes will skate over her on the street, or she’ll come back to him as Evie and take him for all he’s got, but that little farm girl he’d had his eye on?  She’s gone the second she leaves his sight. She’ll never come back again. 

-

Evie and Jay sit on the floor of what was probably once a shop, with holes in the ceiling that won’t keep out the cold. The walls have patches of drywall missing, and a window’s been punched out so thoroughly that only a few tiny shards still cling to the frame. Jay fills the space with the comfort of someone who’s spent time in it, and Evie wonders if he’ll meet Carlos here later.

Her grace and poise is nearly forgotten here. She sits criss-cross in the dust, dirtying her skirt and admiring their little pile of gold. Jay produced a wallet, a coin purse, a shiny golden belt buckle, and - of all things - a fanny pack, all of which lay with their contents spilled out for them to see. She pulls a watch from her cleavage and drops it on top.

“Not a bad morning,” she remarks. It’s almost nonchalant, but she can’t help the smile that pulls up the corners of her mouth. 

“Not a bad shill,” Jay replies, looking at her through the sides of his eyes. She tosses her hair, but doesn’t reply. 

If it was an audition, there’s no doubt she landed her role. 

-

She doesn’t quite mean to show the letter to Jay, but they’re sharing a palmed cigarette under the awning of an old grocer and it slips right off her tongue between one puff and the next. 

She’d never quite realized how dangerous it was that she’d stopped putting up all her masks around him. There’s a terrifying moment where she’s thinking about just bolting altogether when Jay starts fumbling with his jacket. She’s never seen him do anything like that before, and it’s clear why he’s doing it now when he pulls a creamy piece of paper out from within it. 

It’s heavy with the scent of magic, earthy and spicy, and the words on it are exactly the same as the one she’s had stuffed in her bra all day. 

“Mal and Carlos got them, too.” He says, voice a little unsteady. “I don’t think - we don’t think there’s anyone else.” 

Evie takes that in with another deep drag of smoke, letting it wisp out of her mouth as she looks out sightlessly at the street.

Not just her, but four of them. Villain kids, going to Auradon. No backup, no game plan. No way out if it’s a trap. 

Struck by a sudden terrible thought, she grabs Jay’s arm. 

“Do their mothers know? Does your dad?” She demands. Jay hesitates, shakes his head. 

Her shoulders drop, eyes fluttering closed. Her own mother would stop at nothing to get revenge on Auradon, to say nothing of Maleficent. None of them would think twice to risk their children’s lives if it meant freedom. 

“Can’t keep it that way forever, though.” He says, eyes hard. He takes the last drag, drops the smoke and stomps it out hard with the heel of his boot. He’s frustrated. Scared. She watches him slip his hat off and run a hand through his hair, agitated.

“Come to the tenements behind the marketplace tomorrow.” He says after a long moment, glancing around the abandoned street as if someone could be lurking. “Third floor, second left, fourth door. Eight o’clock.”

- 

She hears them before she sees them. Turning the corner down the second hallway on the left, she slows her steps to listen.

“Four?” Mal questions, disbelief clear as day in her voice, “Who’s the fourth?” 

“Uh, Evie Grim.” Evie can hear Jay’s wince. “I told her to meet us here.”

Whether it’s Evie herself that he thought Mal would be mad at, or the fact that she’s meeting them in the clubhouse, Evie can’t tell, but he’s clearly bracing himself. Mal delivers in full.

“You _invited_ her here?” she demands, voice rising, “She knows where we _sleep_?”

 Evie imagines her rounding on him, those big green eyes flashing.

“She’s trouble, Jay,” Mal says severely, “And _not_ the fun kind.” 

Surprisingly, it’s Carlos who pipes up next to defend her. Interesting. 

“She’s smart, Mal. Good at what she does. We don’t know what we’d be walking into, and if we do it, she’ll be an asset.”

Evie stifles a proud little smile even as she stands alone in the hallway. Jay’s more likely to pull her in when Carlos isn’t around, but she’s run a few games with the boys - shilling for them in a pinch, or lending an extra pair of eyes and ears when they need it. Carlos is sharp, analytical, and quick - both literally and figuratively. It’s always nice to know your skills are appreciated, especially by your allies. 

“She runs the best confidence game I’ve ever seen,” Jay agrees. 

Mal grumbles. “Doesn’t mean I want her to know where I sleep.” 

Then, because timing is everything, Evie strides into the room.

“I see my reputation precedes me,” she lilts, shoulders back and head held high. Jay grins at her, and she gives him a secretive little smile before leveling Mal with a look that’s part smug, part easy confidence. Mal glowers back. 

“Mal,” Evie greets graciously, giving her the barest of nods before turning to cast her eyes around the space. 

It’s modest, but clearly set up with care. Two old double mattresses on the floor against the brick wall opposite the door, head to head so they can get up quick. A table with broken chairs blocks off the corner where they keep their backpacks, and a big, heavy dresser leans against the wall just beside the door, a quick barricade if necessary. Everything is as far from the sightline of the door as they can manage it. Nothing’s sitting out in the open.

The only sign of who might live here is the mural, and Evie sidles up to it curiously. It covers one full wall, edges spilling over to the next and the back of the door. A motif of purple, green and black fades out from the center to incorporate reds, whites, and a smattering of gold. At the center is a smoky purple and black, green eyes and barely-there suggestions of features coming through the smoke. Unthinkingly, she lifts a hand to run fingers over the art. 

“Don’t,” Mal barks, voice sharp enough to make Evie flinch. She lowers her hand. 

It really is a beautiful painting, Evie thinks, running her gaze over it. It’s the only personal touch the room has, but it’s clearly been a long time in the making. There’s Carlos running across the wall, a flash of white and red and black that tears across the wall like he’s half-made of wind itself. Hard cell-shaded lines are blurred out by speed so that his body can hardly be made out, but his head is turned to look behind him, an impish grin on his face. Jay, on the other side, glows with warm golds, his hair flying behind him in a shot of black and his red hat hanging loose from deft fingers. It’s a Jay she hasn’t seen before.

She turns around to look at Jay, then over at Carlos.

“Yknow, I wondered why I never caught him looking at my tits.” She tells Carlos conspiratorially. If she was hoping to break the tension, it does the opposite, making both boys tense up. 

“Leave him alone, ‘Vie,” Jay says, only a touch of warning in his voice. Evie grins, then affects a fake pout, directing it at Jay.

“Aw, jealous of the attention?”

“What can I say?” Jay shrugs, “you make a boy feel special.” he shoots her his fakest, most panty-melting grin. Evie turns up her bedroom eyes. “I can make you feel a lot more than just “special”, baby.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she checks on Carlos - Wouldn’t do to offend Jay’s little prince charming. Jay’s never hesitated to flirt back to her on a job, but there’s a difference between keeping his cover and actually enjoying it, though a little twist of regret slides through her at the idea that she’s been having fun at their expense without even knowing it. Carlos, comfortingly, just grins, looking like he’s settling in to watch the show.  

“Y’know,” Mal interrupts sharply, “As hot and disturbing as this is, if we could focus up for a minute?” 

“If you wanted a turn, Mal, you only had to ask,” Evie flirts, tongue darting out to wet her lower lip. Mal ignores her. Evie tells the little flash of disappointment she feels at that to stay well off her face, please, and crosses to perch herself daintily on the corner of the table in the corner, furthest from the exit but facing the whole room. 

“Say we do this,” Mal says, clapping her hands and turning on her heel to face them. She looks at each of them in turn, “What happens? Go.”

“We lose our turf,” Jay says immediately, like he’s been thinking about it. Mal nods approvingly at him.

“If we don’t come back, that won’t matter.” Evie points out. 

“If we do, we’ve still got reputations.” Mal reasons, “It would be… inconvenient, but we could get most of it back eventually.”

“I can’t go back to my mother, if we do this,” Carlos says, voice cold and detached, “She won’t let me go willingly. If we do this, I’m crashing here until we leave, and I’m never going back there again.” 

Mal nods. Jay sets his jaw.

“Separating you from Cruella de Bitch isn’t exactly on my ‘cons’ list, Los.” Jay says bitterly. It’s an interesting dynamic they have, the brains and the brawn. Carlos is clearly smart enough to know better than to get attached, and Jay isn’t one to need the safety of numbers. When she’d seen them in action, Jay had flirted a little, Carlos had blushed, but it seemed secondary to their professional partnership - Carlos quietly dealing with his feelings and Jay flirting because well. He’s Jay.

Now, though, Jay is something else: protective. There’s a cold resolve on his face. Whatever it is between them, it’s much realer than splitting some scores.

“Kids disappear around here all the time,” Evie says lowly. “A low profile, some grease on the right palms, and none of our parents know we left until we’re gone.”

Mal’s mouth twists.

“Sure,” she agrees, “but if we come back with nothing to show for leaving?” She gives Evie a fatalistic sort of smirk, eyes cold. “Carlos is right. I, for one, will get my throat slit the second I set foot in my mother’s home if I come back from outside the barrier empty-handed. We either kick the dust of this sorry place off our shoes, or we take Auradon down with us when we leave it. Otherwise, we’ve lost our turf, made enemies of our parents, and painted a big-ass target on our backs.”

“Alright.” Jay says, “Then what’s the game plan?”

“Assuming it’s not a big, blinking lights and neon signs _trap_ , you mean?” Carlos drawls. Evie watches Mal consider this.

“Alright, say it’s a trap. What’s the angle?” She asks the room. It feels very much to Evie like a Queen consulting with her advisors, or a captain laying out battle plans. She commands attention, directs the conversation, defers to their judgment, though they seem to tacitly acknowledge that Mal makes the final call. 

“Leverage is my working theory.” Carlos says, “Over our parents. They hold us hostage to ensure compliance among their most unstable and powerful prisoners.” 

Jay snorts. Evie has to agree with him. 

“I’m not saying it’s smart,” Carlos presses, “or that it’ll work. But think about it. That place shits out nothing but sparkly picket-fence family propaganda all day, you don’t think they could be operating under the delusion that our parents want us to live?”

Evie takes a moment to imagine how Mother would react to a threat from the King, with her daughter’s life hanging in the balance. She’d probably laugh, thank him for the convenience of being rid of her. A chill runs up her spine, and she viciously suppresses the shiver it accompanies. 

“It’s a solid theory,” Mal says, “has more teeth than any where they’re playing it straight.”

“But then, what if we don’t go?” Jay asks, “They just kidnap us anyways?” 

Evie purses her lips, “There’s really no need to be coy about it, if that’s the case.” 

“They’re right,” Mal admits, looking to Carlos with an apologetic tilt to her brows. “It doesn’t explain the letters. It’d be stupid to risk giving us a heads-up before nabbing us if we said no.”

Carlos’s lips press together, but he nods. “Considering the letters are our only clue, that _is_ a pretty big hole in the theory,” He relents. Evie looks around at them all. Jay has his arms crossed, a frown settled into his forehead as he works the angles. Carlos is sitting forward on the edge of a mattress, his elbows braced on his knees, hands clasped. Mal has her hips cocked, lips pouted in thought as she narrows her eyes into the middle distance, considering.

They’re going to do it. It’s an impossible opportunity - the kind that would haunt them, if they said no, for the rest of their natural lives. The what-ifs they’re considering now have nothing on the what-ifs of saying no and living the rest of their lives knowing they might have had a chance to get out, and they hadn’t taken it. 

Evie pulls the letter out of her dress, unfolds it, and turns to smooth it on the table. At the bottom, there’s a thin dotted line next to the words, “sign here.” The movement catches Jay’s eye, and she feels him watching her, Carlos and Mal too.

“Say we stay,” She says quietly, mirroring Mal’s language from earlier. Her eyes lock onto Mal’s, “knowing that we might have been able to get out of here. If we miss our only opportunity to, at the very least, not die of scurvy or get shivved and we said no. What then?” 

There’s a pen in her left sleeve, and she wraps her fingers around the cuff of her jacket so that the fabric stretches and it slides down into her hand. After a moment’s consideration, she holds it out to Mal, waist height. Not an ultimatum, just an offer. 

Mal sets her jaw. She looks at her boys, then at Evie, then hones in on the pen. There’s a thin moment of silence, where Carlos and Jay are watching them like they’re not sure what’s going to happen next. Evie knows exactly what’s going to happen next.

Mal huffs. “Fuck,” she says, and snatches the pen.


	2. Chapter 2

The thing they send from Auradon to pick them up is, frankly, ridiculous. It’s black and shiny and longer than any cart or wagon any of them have seen before. Furthermore, it’s ostentatious, which is exactly what four kids fleeing their parents’ wrath are  _ not  _ looking for in their getaway vehicle. 

Evie spares a thought to the planning that must have gone into this on the Auradon side, what they must have been thinking. It’s a miracle the thing made it into their sightline without someone smashing one of its shiny little windows with a rock. People in the marketplace are parting like the sea for it to pull down the narrow dirt-and-occasionally-cobblestone streets, whispering to each other. Some are pointing. 

The tiny crown that adorns the hood is really just the cherry on top.

It was a pipe dream to think they could get away with it, she thinks, resisting the urge to massage her temples.

Carlos has been holing himself up in their hideout since they signed, hasn’t gone home at all. She gets the impression that he’s past the point of no return already, because he’s been jumpy in a way that she hasn’t seen him before, eyes sharp and darting. 

Evie helped Mal pin her mother’s spellbook into the back waistband of her pants, a safety pin pierced through the worn leather of the back flap just ten minutes ago, and Evie’s own mother will find the last shard of her magic mirror missing in a matter of hours. The weight of it inside her bra, pressed against her skin, is all it would take to sink her.

 The driver makes to take their things from them. Jay regards him with suspicion and clutches the strap of his bag with white knuckles. 

Evie’s bag is the biggest - she’s left all of her fabric behind, but she packed as many clothes as she could manage. They’re the only material things she really cares about. Still, they’ve kept the packing light and portable - hard not to, when things owned are only more things to lose or have taken. 

“We’ll keep them on us, thanks.” Mal says flatly, when the man turns to pull the same move on Carlos, who looks hunted. It’s a protective move, and it draws the driver’s attention away from Carlos, onto her.

 He takes a long second to look expectantly around, as if there should be something more. Every second they waste is a second closer to Evie starving to death in her mother’s closet, to Mal’s unceremonious decapitation, to whatever torment has Carlos tweaking like a strung-out junkie. 

Mal levels him with a glare, and he hastily closes the trunk and moves around to open the door instead. 

“Just  _ drive _ .” Mal commands, low and clipped. Then, tilting her face up as if scenting the air, she stills. 

“She’s coming.”

The driver freezes, eyes going wide. There can be no ambiguity.

Maleficent.

 Mal hurls herself inside, Carlos scrambling to follow. Jay puts his hand on the small of Evie’s back, ushering her in before him before yanking the door shut on them all. 

The driver peels off. Comforting as it is to know that the sedate meander the car took as it made its way to them wasn’t its top speed, Evie wishes viciously that the driver had been half as scared to come to the Isle at all as he was of Maleficent.

Behind them, Maleficent is standing stock-still in the spot they vacated, watching. 

Even powerless, she is an imposing figure. Her black cloak surrounds her, a looming extension of her being - a shadow that’s come alive to engulf all the light around it. The horns of her headpiece glint shiny and sharp in the midday light. Roiling fury radiates off of her in tendrils of green smoke, her poison green eyes shining bright and terrifying. 

She doesn’t move. Can’t.

Evie’s skin goes cold.

Evie’s hated the way the barrier takes away their power many times - bitterly, as she stirs potion ingredients knowing they’ll do next to nothing, or when she’s tearing apart opulent Auradon clothes to piece something from the scraps like the penniless pauper they’ve made of her. 

In this moment, though, she feels feverishly, ludicrously grateful for it. 

For a long moment, nobody breathes.

It’s then, of course, that they begin to approach the severed, rusted-out bridge that used to connect Auradon to the Island. It ends sharply, support beams rusted out and pointing in every direction like the claw of some old, iron monster half-outstretched.

Evie tenses, and she feels Mal beside her go stiff just the same, as she notices their trajectory. She reaches for the silver handle of the door. 

It’s a trap. All of their preparation, all the careful planning, to be run off the bridge before they’ve even had their shot. 

“Fuck,” Mal breathes. Evie is inclined to agree. 

They set themselves up perfectly for this, keeping it all a secret. They’ve burned every bridge they had to leave this place. 

“ _ Fuck _ !” Mal says, out loud this time. Part of Evie was hoping that maybe Mal would do it anyways, but even she seems to know that the alternative is worse. The driver looks into the rearview for only a second, unperturbed.

Jay raises up onto his feet, crouching low like he’s ready to break through the window anyways, but Carlos grabs him, with a shouted, “Don’t!”

He shoots a hard look out the back window. People have swarmed back onto the street in the wake of them, but that’s not what he’s thinking about. 

The driver presses a button on the ceiling.

Whatever’s going to happen next, Maleficent would, beyond a shadow of a doubt, be worse.

They’re all jostled as the limousine drives over the junction between the dirt road and the metal of the bridge, and Evie reaches out to grasp at something, to brace for impact. It’ll be the impact that kills them, at least - quick, almost painless. She finds Mal’s hand and grips it. Another jolt of the limousine’s wheels, and then --

She holds her breath. Carlos lets out a shout. Mal’s hand tightens crushingly around hers. 

They don’t fall. 

-

“Sorry,” says the driver blandly. “About twenty minutes now to go.”

Evie breathes. She lets go of Mal’s hand. She pictures, very vividly, prying off each of the driver’s individual fingernails. 

Mal blows the hair off her forehead and leans forward to put her chin on the divider between the front and the back, hands on either side. “Is eviscerating a limousine driver illegal in Auradon?” She asks chirpily. There’s a tight, icy grin on her face, “I’m asking for a friend.”

The driver meets her gaze in the rearview mirror and presses another button in the ceiling until a black wall rises up from underneath Mal’s hands. She slumps back in her seat, but finally - finally - they’re alone. 

Jay and Carlos immediately slide together, like the driver’s prying eyes were the only thing keeping gravity from doing its job. It likely was. Jay is visibly shaken, which is in and of itself quite concerning, so Evie pointedly turns herself away from them to at least give them the illusion of privacy. They’ll all need to have it completely together in about twenty minutes.

“I’m the friend,” Evie informs Mal darkly, and Mal laughs - as if they hadn’t just had to accept their deaths, and like maybe she thinks Evie is joking more than she is. Instead of a witty reply, Mal settles into her seat, casting her eyes out the side window. 

Fair enough, Evie thinks, and pulls her bag up into her lap to fish out her makeup bag. Twenty minutes is more than enough time, but she might as well try to fix herself while they’re all otherwise distracted. The less they have to witness of the process, the better.

She puts her makeup bag between her teeth and puts the rucksack back on the ground.

As silently as possible, she kicks off her heels, reaches up her skirt, and begins pulling off her tights. The whole process - the thorough sanitization of Evie Grim into Evelyn Queen - is indelicate,  _ ugly _ , and she doesn’t particularly want to do this in front of anyone,  _ ever _ . 

Better the Devil you know, she reminds herself bracingly. 

“Uh, what are you doing?” Carlos asks. Evie glances at him, and he’s frowning at her, bemused. Evie closes her eyes for a beat and centers herself, like she does before lessons with Mother.

“The -” She still has a bag in her mouth. She holds up a finger, and finishes yanking the netting off of her feet, balling it up in one hand to take her bag in the other. Jay’s eyebrows are at his hairline. Fantastic.

“I’m changing.” she informs them, locating a blush brush and a small mirror as she does.

“Interesting priorities you’ve got there,  _ Evie _ ,” Mal says. Evie gives her a sharp look over the rim of her compact. 

“If you think the second we step out into this place we’re not going to be under the world’s biggest microscope, you’re delusional.” She bites. 

As they watch, she pulls the pins out of the waist of her skirt, and it unfolds from a miniskirt into a far more modest A-line, cutting just below the knee. She slides her eyeshadow out from under under the shoulder of her flared-sleeve leather jacket. Licking a finger, she begins the process of delicately removing the top layer of old shadow so she can pack on the lighter, daintier color she has in her hands. 

“I, for one, am not planning to let my harlot reputation follow me to princessville,” She says, patting powder into her crease with a pinky. When she’s done, she uses the underside of her skirt to wipe off her fingertips.

“You’re not a harlot,” Carlos says, sounding earnest and a little confused. It’s sweet that he’d lie. Evie reaches up to pat his cheek, and he aborts his flinch a little too late. She pulls back, folding her hands in her lap.

“You’re sweet,” she says, gently dismissing him, “but reputation pays, and  _ my  _ reputation?” She laughs, just a little exhale through her nose, “Will pay me dirt in a place like Auradon.” 

A touch-up of blush and a little lipstick, and she looks the part. Disposing of the evidence of her transformation is easy enough too, pulling the drawstrings on her makeup bag tight and depositing it with the rest of her things, zipping that up, adjusting it just so. Evelyn Queen does things perfectly. 

She sits up, dropping her shoulders, elongating her neck and back. One ankle rests under the other, hands folded in the lap. 

_ Chin  _ up,  _ Evelyn, you lazy little girl! Wipe that wretched little frown off your face before I knock it off of you myself. I am  _ speaking _ , and I will not be distracted by any  _ ugliness  _ today, not even yours _ . 

Evie settles her face into that empty, neutral, almost-smile, and begins counting her breaths.

Fifteen. Mal squints at her, tilting her head. 

Forty four. Mal’s foot pokes experimentally at her own.

Seventy one. Jay begins investigating the shelves of the limousine. Evie turns her head a little to watch as he pokes and prods at the colorful jars and piles of plastic-wrapped somethings that line the walls. 

Seventy seven. Mal pokes her knee.

Eighty. Mal pokes her knee harder.

Eighty two. “Are you like, dead?” Mal asks, eyes narrowed. Evie blinks, coming back to herself.

“No?” She looks down at herself, then back up at Mal, who’s squinting.

“What?” Evie snaps. Her posture stays perfect, but she’s frowning now, and she’s pricklingly aware of the way the expression rests on her face. 

Mal gives her a long look, eyes sweeping over her in a way that makes her feel exposed. 

“Nevermind.” she says. 

Jay, across from Evie, is struggling to sound out words written on one of the wrappers he nabbed from the limo shelves. Carlos lets him try for all of five seconds before plucking it out of his hands. Jay makes a grab for it, but Carlos deflects him easily, flipping the orange thing over his hands.

“Partially  _ hydrogenated  _ vegetable oil.” He reads out. He flips it back over a few more times, studying it. “It’s food.”

That makes them all sit up a little straighter. 

“... All of it?” Mal asks. Carlos shrugs. “Probably?” 

She snatches up a stack of the wrapped bars and starts distributing them between her various pockets and her bag. Jay and Carlos quickly follow suit, shoving at each other as they race to grab the same things. They’ll split their take down the middle, same as always. Evie wonders idly if the fighting is a little like foreplay - an excuse to get close without raising suspicion. She doesn’t dare ask. 

Mal drops a stack into her lap, and they spill over her still-folded hands.

“Take a cut, moron. We don’t know what we’re walking into out there.” 

Auradon looms ever-closer out the window. She tucks them away. 

\---

The limousine makes a lurch as it lands once more on solid ground. Evie checks herself one last time in her compact, smoothing the lines of her dress and pushing her eyelashes up with a delicate finger. Around her, the others straighten up, eyes alert.

They pull to a stop and, twenty scant minutes after fleeing for their lives, they’re here. Auradon.

Evie holds her breath as the limousine turns off.

“Any last words?” Mal asks brightly. None of them laugh. Jay gulps audibly. 

They’re saved from the decision of opening the door by the driver, who pulls it open with considerably more composure and ceremony than he’s managed to show anytime in the past half hour. Prick. 

Mal - nothing if not a leader - is first out, and Evie follows. The sunshine is, for a brief moment, blinding.

She focuses first on her entrance, coming to stand in near-perfect  _ premiere en bas _ , her bag strapped cross-body over herself, and her hands clasped. Her face is a perfect mask. Once settled, she takes in her surroundings. Carlos stumbles on his way out, catching himself on the door with his eyes on the crowd of people that stand waiting to gawk at them.

Evie’s eyes catch helplessly on the scenery: lush green manicured lawns sprawl under the bluest, purest sky. White, fluffy clouds straight out of goddamn picture books are chugging their way carelessly across the sky. The air is clean and sweet, floral scents mingling with the ambient spice of magic that moves through  _ everything _ . She can sense it. Her skin warms under the weight of it like a blanket after the cold. 

Music is playing. A cluster of blue-clad teenagers jauntily blow and strum and beat at their professional-looking instruments, starched and grinning into the sunlight. It’s a bright, celebratory tune, but it peters out in a wave as each player becomes too distracted to keep time, busy taking in the view.

There’s a boy at the front, no older than any of the rest, with perfect hair and a girl on his arm. He’s nervous. He covers it well, but his hands, clasped in front of him, are squeezing one another, and his smile is just a touch too tight. Dressed head to toe in blue and gold, he can only be Auradon’s own prince charming. 

There’s a long moment of stillness, like the lull between thoughts stretched thin, as everyone seems to take in the foreignity of each other. Four thin, exhausted urchins plucked off the sinful streets and deposited in the laps of royalty. A crowd of clean, perfect people, staring at sin itself.

Mal, Jay and Carlos are head-to-toe in leather, no visible skin from their chins to their fingertips, battle-ready and battle-weary all at once. Evie made Carlos the jacket herself. They’d covered up every scar, every hint of weakness they could find, but standing now in front of these perfect people, Evie’s sure they can see straight through her demure dress to the slut underneath. 

The Prince clears his throat. 

“Uh,” a fantastic start, Evie thinks with a mental eye-roll. Her defenses are poised. Lessons with Mother honed her self-control to a fine, razor-sharp point, but Evie Grim would always be the one who had to fight, had to keep herself safe. The Prince recovers with a bright smile.

“It’s so  _ good _ ,” he starts to say, and Evie winces internally at the indelicacy. “Good” is not exactly a word to be used lightly here. 

Then he reaches for Carlos.

Evie forces herself not to react. Jay and Mal both visibly tense, and it takes a half a breath for them all to realize it’s a handshake. The prince hesitates, glancing over them all, but Carlos reaches his hand back only a split-second too late, taking it. Like a skip on a scratched CD, the Prince continues, unrelenting, “... To finally meet you all.” 

He goes for Jay’s hand next, but they’re expecting it now, so he takes it, eyeing the Prince over as he does. 

“This is a momentous occasion!” the Prince declares, nodding once at Jay’s severe look and not breaking his smile, “One that I hope will go down in history.”

Evie shakes his hand. Mal stands last on the line, and Evie itches to look, to check in on her state. 

It’s not that Mal will fuck up. She holds her ground as well as any of them - better, usually. There’s an anger in her, though - a fire that can easily be stoked. 

Relenting against her better judgment, Evie shifts her weight, tilting to catch a look at Mal’s face only to fight down a gasp as she does: Mal’s eyes are glowing a bright, electric green. 

A fine tremor runs along the line of Mal’s shoulders, and her jaw is clenched, hard. 

Something is  _ wrong _ .

Still, Mal takes his hand, lets him shake it. 

At the contact, they both flinch, but neither breaks it. Something crackles in the air, sharp and electric, and Evie feels the hair on her arms stand on end. No one moves. Evie watches the Prince take her in - her eyes, her hair, the cocked hip that even whatever-is-happening-inside-Mal’s-brain can’t shake her enough to lose. She tilts her chin up, daring him. Boldly, he makes eye contact, though he clearly steels himself to do it. 

Noble of him, but it’s true that the Prince can hardly be seen showing fear of the people he declared worthy of bringing here. It reads clearly enough anyways. He flexes his hand at his side as he steps away. 

“Well,” The prince says, “ I ... imagine you’ll want to see your rooms and unpack?”

He’s just wound down a pretentious speech about the healing of two nations that reads aggressively like propaganda, considering the Isle isn’t a “nation” but rather an anarchist prisoner colony. At least it was short. 

Evie waits with bated breath for Mal’s next move, ready to distract and disengage. Now that she’s had a moment to look, Mal is pale, tense. Jay and Carlos have picked up on it, too, and they hesitate to answer, each leaning back to catch a look at Mal behind Evie’s back. Mal steadies them all with a quick jerk of her chin. Jay’s jaw tenses. Evie shifts her weight, leaning into Jay’s eyeline to tilt her head at him.  _ Relax _ . His lips twitch stubbornly. 

Mal, on her other side, gives a relaxed little ‘whatever’ shrug, like she’s not unsteady on her feet and trembling for  _ reasons unknown _ .

“That would be  _ lovely _ ,” Evie enthuses, backing her play. Ultimately, it’s Mal who calls the shots. “Though I imagine introductions might be in order?” She shoots him her kindest possible smile, softening the jab as much as she can. Some Prince. 

A brief verbal stumble, a flash of wide eyes, and the kid’s steady on his feet once more. 

“Of course! My name -” he clears his throat, straightens, “is Prince Benjamin Rouergue, heir to the throne of Auradon.” Apparently incapable of holding composure for more than around six seconds, he leans forward conspiratorially and continues, “We’ll be in classes together, though, so you can just call me Ben.”

Evie watches as Jay slits his eyes and bumps Carlos’s shoulder.  _ This guy, am I right? _

“Ben,” Evie repeats warmly, stepping forward to distract from the exchange. “Evelyn Grim.”

“I’m Jay,” Jay says, stepping forward and smiling winningly, “You can call me - Jay.” His hands give a little flourish of emphasis as he says it, eyes going up into the middle distance to cast them up onto an imaginary marquee. 

Carlos smothers a laugh. 

“Carlos,” follows after a quick moment to compose himself, and Evie realizes that Jay’s gambit was for Carlos’s sake - breaking the full-name expectation with gusto. No last names required. 

“Fae don’t participate in the culture of surnames,” Mal recites flatly, “Call me Mal.”

Regardless of whether it was a smart call to remind the mark that she’s a creature capable of magic, it does the trick, and Ben coughs out a half-laugh before smiling his acknowledgment at each of them.

He smiles too much. 

“I guess I’ll give you the tour?” He asks, splaying his hands out a bit bashfully. 

“As long as we know where the bathrooms are by the end,” Mal quips. Ben laughs, head thrown back - trying, it seems to Evie, just a  _ bit  _ too hard.

He turns, parting the sea of gawkers with ease, apparently expecting them to follow. After gauging for a moment, Mal leads the way into the Prince’s wake. Boldly, they ignore the stares and sneers of onlookers, Jay taking his place behind Carlos. Carlos, for his part, can’t help glancing around at the curious (skeptical) faces of Auradon’s citizens, but Jay prods him gently on before he can stumble under the scrutiny, and they make it through unscathed. 

They pass a statue of the king, standing tall and regal and old in the front lawn, surrounded by flowers. The garden is the most color Evie’s ever seen in nature - bright pinks and blues dot the landscape, with shaped topiaries dotted about and the lushest green grass she’s ever seen. She leans discreetly toward a rose bush, catching the delicate floral smell of it in her nose. Magic doesn’t mingle with the earthy scent of the place - it just  _ grows  _ like this. 

Ben stops short, looking up at the statue. Evie prepares herself to hear another speech like the one he tried to give earlier, maybe about his royal status or his father’s noble work. Instead, he claps twice. 

The stone statue shifts. 

Carlos jumps back, falling bodily into Jay’s chest, and Evie herself can’t help but jump. Where the king once stood is now a beast -  _ the  _ Beast.

“Sorry,” Ben says quickly, sounding regretful but clearly holding back a laugh.

“I just thought you might enjoy that one - the statue’s supposed to be a reminder that change is possible - that  _ anything  _ is possible.” 

He looks them all over, “It felt apropos.”

Mal crosses her arms, but seems to be indulging him at least a little bit. Her earlier frost is melting at least a little.

 Only after he turns away, Jay turns to Carlos, leaning down to whisper, “What’s a ‘pruh-po’?” 

 Mal, in front of them, laughs.

Not for the first time today, Evie feels rather like they've survived. This time, though, they might have really, truly made it. 

When they step through the giant oak front doors, she knocks twice on the wood.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are subscribed to this fic and are wondering where the chapters went, the answer is that I have edited! A lot! sorry. this fic is rapidly becoming my baby so I'm trying to take good care of her. I recommend a reread, but most of the story beats are the same. Sorry if you loved the big fuss of Mal's magical outburst, and sorry for changing things up on you. I'm experimenting. I don't really think it will happen again.

The Prince - Ben? Prince Ben? Shows them graciously through the castle, wringing his hands and putting his foot in his mouth the entire way. He’s charming, sure, but he keeps telling them he hopes they’ll be ‘happy’ and ‘comfortable’ and to let him know if they ‘need anything’. 

He offers in the foyer to “have the rest of their things sent up to their rooms,” which goes over rather poorly, and sets the tone for the rest. After a beat where they all frown back at him, and Jay tightens his grip on his backpack, Mal says, “Nah, we’ve got it.”

Ben’s smile falters. 

Evie’s lived in a castle her entire life. She knew what she expected coming here - old, drafty stone hallways, crumbling infrastructure. 

This castle is nothing like home. Gleaming dark wood floors are covered in rich-colored rugs and pristine furniture. The hallways are brightly-lit, with colorful tapestries adorning the spaces between rows of blue lockers and classroom doors. There are bouquets of flowers in crystalline vases on every available surface. They peek into an empty classroom with neat rows of tables and cushioned chairs. Posters on the walls remind students to “be kind to one another” and “lift each other up”. Evie wonders if they’ll be performing physical feats as a part of their classes.

The front of the room has a desk and a big smooth black wall with a little shelf beneath it. On it, in the corner, it says “Do Not Erase: Homework for Monday, notes pp. 123-30, odd q’s pp. 542” and below it, “Enjoy your weekend!” and a little smiling face. 

Carlos wanders up to the wall, peering up at it with a concentrated frown on his face. 

“Is that a code?” He asks, curiously, tilting his head.

“What?” Ben says, startled. He follows Carlos’s eyes.

“Oh! That’s the homework pages that are due on Monday. Usually it’s reading half a chapter and answering some questions from the back of the book about what you read. This is a History classroom.” 

Evie wonders, but doesn’t dare ask, why they would be lifting people in a class about history. 

They move quickly along to the library, which is a gigantic room with dome ceilings and shelves on every wall. More shelves are clustered around the middle, with breaks in between for armchairs and sofas. Each open space between the shelves has more furniture than Evie’s mother’s room, and there’s at least six that she can see from the doorway. 

The second Ben tells them to “have a look around!” Carlos is off like a shot between the stacks of shelves. Jay tracks him with his eyes, meandering in the same direction as if there’s nothing deliberate about the fact he’s following behind. 

Mal wanders off, too, clearly grateful for the reprieve.

Evie stays close, pulling out a book from the nearest shelf after only a moment’s perusal and settling down in the nearest collection of chairs, facing the door. It’s from a shelf labelled “biographies” and is titled, “Stepmother: the Unauthorized Biography of Lady Tremaine”. 

She opens it, but hesitates at the title page. If it’s a fearmongering exaggeration, does she really want to know? Does she really want to picture what the people of Auradon must think of the rest of them, if it is?

Carefully depositing the book back where she found it, she stands up again to find Carlos and Jay. 

-

The girl - the pretty one fawning over Ben when they first arrived - catches him near the tail-end of their tour. She literally catches him by the elbow. 

“Hey, Benny-boo!” she giggles, smiling up at him as if she doesn’t even see the rest of them. 

“Audrey!” he greets her back with not-quite-enough enthusiasm. Then, to the group, “This is my girlfriend, Audrey.”

Clearly she won’t be for long, Evie thinks. Audrey gives them a simpering little wave. Jay gives one of those little chin-lift nods that he uses to get girls’ attention, smirking. Mal rolls her eyes at him. 

Ben, oblivious, introduces them back. “Audrey this is Mal, Evelyn, Jay and Carlos.” 

Evie half-expected him to stumble over their names, but he’s doing well. Audrey, on the other hand, steps in it immediately.

“Oh my God! You’re Maleficent’s daughter, right?” She asks, looking Mal over. It could be an accusation, but it comes out bubbly. Still, Evie doesn’t even need to look at Mal to know she’s on high alert now. Mal crosses her arms over her chest, brow going up in unimpressed surprise. 

Audrey continues uninhibited with, “You know, I just wanna say that I totally don’t blame you for  _ your  _ mom ruining  _ my  _ mom’s life.” The words are the same type of icy cheeriness that Mal uses on people who underestimate her. 

Mal’s eyes flick up and down over her. 

“ _ You’re _ -” she starts to say. Audrey cuts her off. “Aurora’s daughter. Sleeping Beauty?”

As if they didn’t all know the story. Audrey tosses her hair. Evie can feel the air shift as Jay tenses, as they all go on the defensive. 

“Do you have any siblings?” Mal asks sweetly. Audrey blinks.

“No?” She draws the word out slowly, caught off-guard. She looks at Mal like she’s a crazy person.

“Just-” Mal starts. She pauses to shrug guilelessly, gives Audrey her best wide-eyed-ingenue expression. Evie closes her eyes, knows the punchline must be coming.

 “I wondered where she put all that beauty she was known for.” Mal finishes, letting her eyes skate all the way down Audrey’s body and back up. 

Ben’s eyes go wide. Audrey’s mouth drops open. Evie counts her breaths. One, two, three. 

“Uh,” He says. Casting his eyes around for an escape, he lands on a kid in a band uniform - complete with the moronic chinstrap hat - and reaches for him. 

“Doug!” Ben says gratefully. Doug is a shorter boy - skinny, with a round, soft face and big glasses. His eyes go wide as the Prince pulls him off-course. 

“This has been lovely,” Ben says to all of them, “But I have to go attend to some other duties at the moment. Doug here can show you your rooms, and answer any other questions you have.”

Doug-the-band-kid receives a wide-eyed, meaningful stare from the prince. He looks them over. Gulps. “Of course!” he exclaims, putting on a smile, “My pleasure.”

Ben takes Audrey’s hand.

“You’ve been a gracious tourguide,” Evie tells him, and he laughs mirthlessly through his nose. “Thanks,” he says, before he and his girl are off.

“People really just say thank you here all the time, huh?” Jay notes, wrinkling his nose. 

Mal snorts. “Did you hear him call us  _ friends _ ?” She puts air quotes around it derisively. Now that Evie’s taking a moment to look at her, she can see the way she’s holding herself: a touch too stiff, posed like it’s a carefully deliberate act. Whatever it was is still running its course on her, though she’s hiding it well. They’ve all got plenty of practice ignoring an injury, but it makes Evie want to find privacy sooner rather than later. Jay has kept a spot at Mal’s back for the entire tour, staying in her blind spot, so he’s clearly noticed the same. 

“It’s sort of cute,” Evie defends, though she can’t keep the touch of condescension from her voice, (well, she  _ can _ . She doesn’t, because Doug-the-band-kid is staring at them, and they outnumber him), “All …” she waves a demonstrative hand toward Doug-the-band-kid, “soft and  _ proper _ . This is the longest I’ve ever gone without hearing the word ‘fuck’.”

She hopes he gets a little shock out of hearing a pretty girl say uncouth words, and doesn’t think of how her mother would be blowing a gasket. He blinks in surprise, then frowns. 

He could easily run and tell the Prince all about how they were making fun of him, saying bad words in the hallway and calling them soft. She spares a moment to wonder how much rope Auradon will let them have - four street-tough villain kids who’ve never been to school - and whether they’ll actually manage to hang themselves with it. 

“Fuck,” Doug-the-band-kid says, experimentally. There’s a little bit of force behind it. Four pairs of eyes turn to look at him. It’s the first word out of his mouth since Ben left them.

Well, it certainly did get their attention. Evie looks him over again, tilting her head thoughtfully. She’s not the only one either - Jay on her left is doing the same, and Carlos is smothering a grin. 

“Did that help?” Doug asks, a bit teasingly. There’s a small smile on his lips. Evie turns her full body toward him, softening her eyes, not-quite holding back a smile of her own. She darts a tongue out over her lips and pulls it between her teeth, looking at him. Just for fun, really. Just to see what he’ll do. He looks startled for a moment at the attention, but holds his ground. Good boy. 

“I, for one, feel right at home,” Carlos quips, giving Doug a smile. Doug grins, relaxing, and points down the hall.

“It’s this way to your rooms. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Doug starts walking, assuming they’ll follow, and after a moment, they do. 

-

 There are two entire beds in the room, and each are big enough to fit all four of them on it, each covered with at least five pillows and a rich blue blanket. In fact, everything about the room seems unnecessarily large. The room itself has enough space that Evie could lay down on the ground with her hands stretched out and Jay could do the same, without touching the dark wood paneling of the walls on any side. Shining wood floors are covered partly by a large carpet in rich reds and browns. Two desks -  _ two  _ \- are pressed against the wall opposite the beds, each with its own lamp, and its own pile of books and little white boxes stacked on top of it. The ceiling has a  _ fan  _ in it. 

It takes a long moment standing in the doorway in shock, and then Doug tells them that this room is only for the boys, and that Mal and Evie have an entirely different place to stay. 

The idea makes them all uncomfortable, being separated, but no one argues. Jay tenses. Carlos shoots Mal a look that she quells with a half-shake of her head. Assuming they’re not all locked in at night - which they might be - they could easily occupy one room in practice, and two only in appearance. 

There’s a television that seems to be stuck into the wall so that the screen is flush with it - not a boxy set with wires and tinfoil sticking out of the top like the one Mother has, and the screen is flat and matte instead of curved and shiny. 

Doug seems content to let them poke around for a moment before he whisks Mal and Evie off, and they do. Carlos makes a beeline toward the television immediately, and Jay wanders over to the desk, examining the pile on top. Evie hangs back in the doorway to watch. Mal, interestingly, does the same.

He picks up a box, hesitating briefly before pulling open the top and spilling the contents into his hands. It’s pens. He does the same to the others - pens, pencils, four brightly-colored markers, and a pink eraser. They’re all first-hand, fresh and new and unused. The books are notebooks - empty, which he notices as he thumbs through the pages. One is lined, another is graphed, and yet another is just clean white pages. 

Jay looks over at Doug, who’s pretending to be waiting in a patiently uninterested fashion. 

“Whose stuff is this?” He asks, fingering the pencils idly. After that first glance, his eyes shifted to Mal. 

Doug frowns. “They’re for you,” he says, surprised. “School supplies.”

“Huh.” Jay says thoughtfully. 

He slips two pencils out of the case and slides them up his sleeve, quick and smooth. Evie quirks an eyebrow, but then Jay wanders back over to where they’re all standing. He keeps the box in his hand, but now down by his side, out of sightlines.

“It’s new.” He observes. There’s no accusation in his tone, but Evie knows it’s because he’s holding it back. All things come with a price tag - no such thing as a free cigarette. New things, in their experience, come with a rather high one.  Doug nods, but doesn’t elaborate.

“They wanted you to be prepared, I guess?” He tries, looking confused by Jay’s line of thought. Easy as anything, Jay slips the box into the outside pocket of Mal’s bag, and steps back away, wandering to examine some other thing. 

 “Stop that.” Mal says sharply. 

Jay’s head snaps up, caught, but he throws her a clueless expression. 

“What?” he asks, innocently. He’s baiting her, and Evie can tell by the purse in Mal’s lips that she knows it. 

She digs her hand into her bag without looking, lobs the box back at him while looking straight into his eyes. 

“Fuck off.”

He catches it against his chest, grinning. Doug looks between them, clearly thrown, but doesn’t ask any stupid questions. 

“Your room next?” He asks, as an aside to Evie. 

“I could use to put this bag down,” She says agreeably, and with a tug on Mal’s sleeve, they exit into the hallway. 

They don’t dawdle with Doug once they get to their own room. It’s much more exposed than the boys’ - pink sheer curtains flutter around large windows, and the whole room has an airy, open feel about it. It makes Evie’s skin itch, but it’s just as opulent as the first, with two whole beds and two whole desks. Mal enters first, and Evie gives an about-face as soon as she’s crossed the threshold, pulling the door closed flush against her body so she’s only peeking out.

“Great tour!” she enthuses to Doug with a cheery smile. “See you tomorrow!” She shuts the door nearly in his face, finding a lock and wrenching it home. 

She turns to lean against the door, letting her chin drop and her eyes shut for a second. Alone. They’re alone. She breathes, one, two, three. 

 Mal doesn’t even make it to a bed before she goes down, dropping her bag and curling up on the floor. The sound of it makes Evie look up.

“Stab me in the chest.” She commands. 

“What happened?” Evie demands, righting herself quickly. There’s really no time to be relaxing anyways. 

Jay and Carlos would be better for this, and she wishes they were still together. Mal knows Jay, might even trust Jay, and Jay trusts Carlos, knows Evie. As a foursome, they can work, because it’s balanced. Evie and Mal don’t even particularly know each other.

She doesn’t envy the boys their moment alone, but God she wishes it were Jay in her place. 

“There’s magic here.” Mal says, rolling to lie flat on her back. Her eyes are beacons now that she’s not putting on a show, shining like their own light source. 

“There’s more magic here than I ever even conceptualized.” She raises a hand into her sightline, rubs her fingertips together where they peek out of her fingerless gloves. They crackle and spark with green light.

As Evie moves closer she can feel the energy coming off of Mal, waves of it, clouding the air like too much cologne. She sits down criss-cross on the floor. Fuck propriety.

“Does it -” she stops herself from asking “does it hurt?” because she’s not a moron. They’re not friends. 

“It did,” Mal admits, reading between her lines. Evie leans back, surprised. She doesn’t press. Can’t push her luck. 

“Getting out of the car was like a pipe bomb explosion,” Mal continues. Evie winces in sympathy. 

“Except,  _ I’m  _ the pipe bomb, and I’m ready to fuckin’ explode.” She throws her arms out to the sides, frowning up at the ceiling. 

“Well, you haven’t exploded yet,” Evie offers, “Not when Aubra pissed you off,  _ or  _ when the Fairy did.”

Mal snorts. Her name was Audrey and they both know it, but Evie’s being petty, and they both know that too. Evie’s ready to continue lightening the mood, to crack another joke at Audrey’s expense if it means hearing Mal laugh again, but Mal’s face tightens. She doesn’t look away from the ceiling. 

“I did on Ben.” She confesses quietly.

It’s odd. An admission. Mal is showing Evie something, a vulnerability, and Evie doesn’t much like it. They’re  _ not  _ friends, is the thing of it. They’re allies, sure, in that they might swap favors, and they certainly have each other’s backs now that each of them has only three people worth giving a shit about, but. 

“She’s trouble, Jay,” Mal said.

 “I don’t want her to know where I sleep,” Mal said. 

“I wondered what happened,” Evie agrees, instead of anything else. Both Mal and Ben had held their ground, but it was obvious that something had passed between them. She’d assumed it wouldn’t be such a literal  _ passing between _ . 

“It’s like static electricity,” Evie muses, leaning back on her hands, “all that magic rushed into you and had nowhere to go.” Ben being the first person she touched after coming into her magic, Evie thinks it’s probably a miracle that nothing worse happened. 

“Until it  _ did _ ,” Mal bites, like she’s arguing. She’s angry at herself. For losing control, or for showing weakness, or maybe some other undetectable mistake she made over the course of the afternoon. But, it doesn’t really  _ matter _ . They survived. They’re  _ here _ . 

It hits Evie, all at once, that they’re free. A high, breathless giggle bubbles out of her, making Mal lift her head up and peer at her suspiciously.

 “What?” she demands. Evie looks around her: this opulent room, the bright afternoon light shining in through the curtains, Mal sprawled out on the plush carpet.

“I didn’t -” Evie hesitates. “I don’t think I thought we’d make it this far,” She admits.

Mal’s head thuds back against the ground. She heaves a deep sigh, throwing her arms out to the sides and grasping at the soft bristles of the carpet. Her head gives a little shake.

“Me neither.”

There’s a whole world outside of this room, this castle, and it sprawls on, beyond the horizon. More possibilities lie in front of them than Evie even has the capacity to understand - and, to that end, more uncertainty. The risks of being here are completely unknown: what the Prince wants, why they were brought here. On the surface, sure, they’re here to “go to school”, whatever that means, but what else is there? 

Right now, it feels like something for nothing. Right now, their world extends infinitely in all directions for the first time ever, and they’re completely, utterly, alone in it.

Evie straightens her shoulders. Counts her breaths. One, two, three. 

“Well,” she breaks the contemplative silence, “What now?” 

Mal doesn’t answer. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm big sad that this reformat did such a number on the comments bc I love and reread all of them!!! thanks for sticking with me on this one folx hopefully it's a little bit worth it???

**Author's Note:**

> https://www.pinterest.com/youcancallmemeg/ch-evelyn-grim/ is my pinterest board for Evie, I have one for each of them but hers is probably the most carefully curated. As always! lesbionicteenagewarhead.tumblr.com


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